


Pari Passu

by icefrosty



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Gen, Headcanon, Manga & Anime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2015-11-10
Packaged: 2018-05-01 00:04:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5184740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icefrosty/pseuds/icefrosty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cheslock has become prefect of Violet Wolf, living with the painful secret of what really happened to the former Prefect Four and the Vice Principal of Weston College. Before the start of the new year, he spends his days at his uncle and aunt's in Canterbury, playing the cathedral's organ at mass. Life seems to have just moved on, whether Cheslock wanted to or not.</p><p>One day, however, he gets a surprise visitor...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pari Passu

**Author's Note:**

> 'Pari passu' is a Latin phrase that literally means “with an equal step” or “on equal footing”. It is sometimes translated as “ranking equally”, "hand-in-hand", “with equal force”, or “moving together”, and by extension, “fairly”, “without partiality”.

What happens in a man’s brain before he kills someone? What fine, delicate thread breaks and makes a man a devil?

Cheslock would probably never know, and never wanted to either. It was bad enough knowing that the men he and his fellow fags had admired and worked for were murderers – their state of mind … one could hardly bear thinking about. For God’s sake, they bashed a boy’s head in because he wasn’t what they thought he was. Because he spat in the face of everything they believed about what it meant to be an elite private school prefect.

The fact of the matter was: four men had murdered Weston’s Vice Principal and three of its pupils. And they had walked free, with only their guilty consciences for punishment.

But perhaps that was as good a sentence as any.

And yet—

No matter how much Cheslock hated them, no matter how often he cursed them, he could not put them out of his mind. He could not reconcile with what had happened, especially with how it ended. Something ugly beyond comprehension had been unearthed that moonlit evening at Weston’s Midnight Tea Party – it could not just disappear. Even if he and the other three current prefects had been sworn to silence, that there was something evil lurking out there, unpunished, restless, did not go away.

How could he just bite his tongue and shut up? When he already knew too much, was there really nothing he could do? Those dolls, that false headmaster, they were out there somewhere. So were the former prefects, murderers…

But with nothing to start him on his way, Cheslock had nowhere to go, no-one to fight. The truth would stew inside his brain, burn painfully, and he would clamp his teeth and bear it.

* * *

 

He was home, at least until the start of the new term, where he would be prefect of Purple House, in the place of a murderer.

Cheslock had not told his uncle or aunt, something he struggled with enormously. He had told them his most painful secrets, but for the first time he could not divulge his agony to them, could not allow himself their loving words, their comfort. It felt as if he too was being punished, punished for being a witness to something he shouldn’t have seen.

_And it wasn’t his fault!_

In desperation, Cheslock had turned to music, as he always did in times of trouble. However, now it was his only source of release. He listened with grim solemnity to churchgoers after service, remarking to one another how passionate his organ playing had become. How it had touched them in their deepest soul. How it had brought a tear to their eyes.

It was during a practice run of _Abide With Me_ in a virtually empty Canterbury Cathedral one Friday afternoon that Cheslock was interrupted by Father John, who said a gentleman wished to see him.

Cheslock frowned. The emotions that had been rushing through him during his performance flared up.

“Who is it? Can’t you tell him I’m busy?”

Father John said it was urgent.

Sighing, Cheslock slid off his stool and went out to meet this visitor.

The moment he saw him, Cheslock froze.

Gregory Violet sat in the front pew, looking sombrely up at him.

“That was beautiful,” he said.

Seeing him, hearing him, made Cheslock’s blood boil. He wanted to knock Violet’s lights out, but bit his tongue, restraining himself. Even if that’s what the bastard deserved, the  _least_  he deserved... if he gave in, especially in a place like this… he would be no better than the old prefects.

He had almost become one of them, or was on the right track, at least. When the fire broke out at Purple House, he had been more willing to listen to Gregory's irrational desire to keep aid from entering than to the Indian Soma, who had pointed out how crazy that was. And even then, Cheslock had been more concerned with defending Violet than listening to reason. Thinking about it now, Cheslock could scarcely believed he had behaved like that. But he was more disturbed by the idea that if things had continued, he too could have murdered someone. The P4 had loved their school and everything it stood for, then stained it with blood. They let it overtake their minds and soiled their hands.

Cheslock was not about to make the same mistake.

Besides that, he had grown a lot since they were together last. He was older, wiser.  

He kept his cool.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“I know I have no right to see you after what I did,” Violet said, lowering his hood. “I know no amount of apologies would heal the wounds I made, but—”

“You’re going to do it anyway?”

He didn’t want to hear it. He wanted the murdering, lying bastard out of his sight.

“No,” said Violet. “I’m not here to apologise. I’m here to ask for your help.”

Cheslock was dumbfounded.

“What …” Cheslock swallowed  _‘the hell’_  just in time, “makes you think I would help you?”

“It’s not for me that I’m asking,” the quiet murderer said. “I’m asking for a great many innocent people who will get hurt if they are not saved. I’m asking for three friends of mine who are on the road to making the same mistake.”

“Friends? You mean – Greenhill and the others?”

“Yes,” said Violet gravely. “There is this organisation—”

“ _Another_  one?”

“—One that promised us salvation. One that preached equality, kindness, opportunity. I tried to warn them, but they were desperate. The torment since we left Weston has been unbearable, and they wanted some way to at least try to atone. It takes the form of a concert ball held every Saturday at the Sphere Music Hall in London. Eight-o’clock.”

Saturday? That was tomorrow!

“People of all ages regardless of their social class gather for a night of dancing and food and cheer.”

That didn’t sound too bad. Actually, though it was ridiculously mad, it sounded quite pleasant. It was weirder hearing Violet talk so much.

“It’s not what it seems, Cheslock,” Violet said. “Appearances deceive. You know that better than most.”

Cheslock wasn’t surprised this had happened. The prefects had traded one cult for another, ruled by emotions, desperate for a light in the dark. They were easy picking for whoever had brought this cruel business together.

“So what do you want me to do about it?”

“I want you to attend the ball and keep a close eye out for anything suspicious,” instructed Violet. “Keep an especially close eye on a man named Bravat, a fortune teller. And, of course, on my pitiful friends.”

Cheslock’s mind was racing. He had finally gotten the information he needed to make a difference in this ugly behind-the-scenes business that had wrecked lives and prolonged others. Praise the Lord, Amen!

He had to do it. Even if it meant endangering his life, he had to do it.

“I’m in,” he said, grinning. “But don’t I need an invite?”

At this Violet stood, robes trailing along the cathedral floor as he walked towards Cheslock, fishing a piece of paper from his pocket.

“You do, and so I procured one for you. It will get you into the hall.”

Violet handed over the invitation. It was actually quite a modestly decorated piece of paper, modest to the eye of one quite used to seeing stupidly fancy fare. But that wasn’t important – now he had his ticket to reconciliation. He could put an end to those cult bastards himself.

Looking up, he noticed how close he was to the ragged, weary-eyed former prefect, and took a step back. It did not feel right being around Violet. Cheslock didn’t know what it would take to reconcile with him. Perhaps he needed time. Perhaps that was just the way things were going to be, and nothing could change it. Life was like that sometimes.

Violet understood and retreated.

“Thank you,” he said. “I knew you would help. It must have been agony, not being able to do anything. Right?’

With Cheslock speechless, Violet took his leave, slipping quietly out of the cathedral doors.

Alone, the current prefect of Violet Wolf rubbed his stinging eyes.

“Damn,” he murmured. “Making me cry, you…”

His curse went unspoken in the great cathedral nave, and Cheslock went to collect his things and go home. He had some preparing to do.

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by a theory from user rationalkuroshitsuji on Tumblr, who wondered if perhaps, due to Violet and Cheslock's rather subdued and aloof behaviour at the Sphere Music Hall, Violet might suspect something amiss, and recruited Cheslock for the purpose of confirming or denying his suspicions. Granted, this might be a case of Violet just being in-character and Cheslock having matured a lot, but I thought it was a very interesting idea, and personally hope it's true! We shall see in Chapter 110!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it :)


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